Entreteixit [Junta Station]

[Meira]

The pulse of life, present in the spit of oil from meat thrown onto a hot pan, the clinking of glasses, bubbling wine, rumbling in the beating of drums and the flourish of flutes, reverberated through the very core of Junta Station. It made everything more vibrant, electric even. Embraces were warmer on Junta Station, wine was sweeter. Lovers looked upon one another with a more urgent hunger in their eyes. Insults and grudges were laid aside, if not forgotten entirely. The Humani were alive! And the station, lonely and near empty for five years at a time, became the beating heart of a people who's blood burned with a passion unrivaled by any other in the galaxy.

"Aqui, meu cor canta i record Gol" a poet had once said, back when the days of the Junta were young. He couldn't actually remember their home planet. None who ever saw the clans reunited had been alive to remember. But the tales of the sea winds and the lap of waves against a bow had long been the words that carried an Humani child of to the realm of dreams. The Junta was the closest thing the Humani had to a home.

For Roma, the Ispi girl, it was the only thing in her life that had ever been constant. Its thrills and heartaches were carried with her wherever she had traveled. In her mind's eye, where the memory of sight still lived, however faintly, she could still see the colors of the merchant stalls. She remembered the people in flashes of clarity; hands grasped together to seal a promise, a little boy giddy with laughter as he trailed some bit of string for a pitten to chase, the blaze of white teeth against leathery skin as friends laughed together.

She sat, knees pulled to her chest, against the side of a stall. Tanit's cane... no, her cane, was propped beside her. In her hand was a bottle of wine, almost empty now. Roma closed her eyes -a useless gesture- and tried to put images to the sounds and smells around her. Cooking meat. She pictured a spit with a greasy man carving portions off a haunch while others stood by, critiquing the method. A shrill of laughter and the stamp of small feet. She tried to envision the way their garments flapped around them as the children ran past. The curses of a woman, unsatisfied with the price of spices. All Roma could see was Tanit's toothless grin.

Bringing the bottle to her lips, Roma tilted her head back, but the wine ran out too quickly. She tossed it aside in frustration and wiped the dribbles from her chin with the back of her hand.

"Fote!" came a man's voice, soon followed by the scraping of chair legs and muted, but heavy steps. Roma scrambled to her feet and snatched up her cane and held it in front of her. The footsteps stopped and there was a moment of indecision in the air.

"Get lost, stupid girl." said the man, then the feet turned and walked away, chair legs scraped, and then he was gone from her mind. Roma curled her lip in his direction, but turned away all the same. She kept her hand on a wall as she moves, the cane before her. The wine had stolen her balance and dulled her grief. But it was gone now, and soon the memory of Tanit's hands would come crawling back into her mind.

She walked until the sounds of voices had faded and she knew she was in some side alley and would be left alone. Tanit had pushed her toward independence, but she had not done it well enough. How could Roma find her way now? She couldn't even begin to guess where she was on the station. How would she find a ship? Never mind if they would have her.

[Swamps]

The Dragon's Slumber was a special place, Mercutio's little patch of paradise. A welcome oasis of comfort and homeliness in a universe that although beautiful proved to be a mite harsher than wished. Where other bars provided stools, nuts, drinks and the occasional booth the Slumber had armchairs, and lots of them. Fat, squashy armchairs with plump cushions arranged in close clusters surrounding tiny wooden tables. Long, sheer curtains of vivid fabric hung from the ceiling separating the clusters and giving the place an unknowable air of mystery as well as one of home. On each of the tables sat circular lamps that made the curtains glimmer and shine as their light fragmented off of them. A special place indeed.

Mercutio sighed loudly as he sank further into his armchair, contemplating that very fact. The Slumber had served as the Samirello family's meeting place at La Junta for years and he had many fond memories of the place. He remembered sitting on his father's lap as he and various other family members told fanciful tales of danger and adventure, recalled hiding in the crook of his father's arm when the stories got too scary for little Mercutio. He had come here only a year ago at the last La Junta and discovered some of the prettiest girls he had ever seen in his life, as well as something much, much better.

Corellian Iced Wine. The bemused Humani raised the glass and watched it's carmine contents swish about as he turned it in his hand. It was an odd but very welcome thing, this wine. It was light, refreshing and devilishly fruity. The sort of drink that instead of pummelling or bullying you into drunkenness ushered you into it, tucked your seat in for you, passed you the cigar box. It was comfort in a glass and left you with such an inescapable sense of happiness that, mixed with a sunny demeanour such as Mercutio's, meant almost complete contentedness.

The Slumber was quiet however, La Junta only being in its earliest of stages and as per tradition Mercutio drank alone. Every year since leaving the Lunaris he had arrived first, his family's lack of decent timekeeping the crux of the problem. Unfortunately for him however his time with the Black Danse had left him meticulously on time, having helped plan their shows and performances for many, many years. In fact if it wasn't for the wine he may have been a little irked by his family's lateness...

Perhaps he could move on somewhere else? He knew a good club nearby that was sure to be fun, he smiled as memories came flooding back to him. During his time touring with the troupe he had grown to love galactic nightclubs, especially those on Zeltros, and it was the closest thing to Zeltros on Junta Station. Dazzling strobes, misty dance floors, writhing bodies... Not enough poetry though he thought to himself, words made everything better. He resented those who described things as unexplainable, you just needed to find the right word, the right phrase. But if he left now he wouldn't return sober enough to play darts and that would be a shame...

"Hmm..."

This would require deep thought.

"Another Iced Wine please, barkeep!"

Mercutio called out, holding his scarcely filled glass out enthusiastically.

[Squee]

Fifteen years. Anisa hadn’t heard this kind of noise in fifteen, long years. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been around noise. Quite the opposite. Anisa was familiar the clattering of applause in an open amphitheater, a thousand whistles going off at the same time, the mighty roar of an appeased audience, and the thunderous boom of triumph from adoring fans.

This noise was special, cultured, and she had not heard it in fifteen years. It was the hundreds of thousands of chattering voices speaking Humani, greetings and farewells, proverbs, and shrill laughter as families raced toward one another after five years of separation. Hissing meat, sputtering vegetables, fizzing wines, sales pitches, the music of instruments, and the shuffling of dancing feet. It was by those dancing feet she’d told her helpers to set up her stand, who were doing it in exchange for free alhena decoration on both arms and feet.

In the mean, however, Anisa had set out to find her family. Both of them. The Rios family was never one to miss a Junta date, arriving early or punctual, and ready to partake in festivities like children loosed onto a playground. It had been more than fifteen years since she’d seen them face to face, though they had contacted a while after Lalo’s disappearance before Anisa presumed her past beloved dead.

They were incredibly overjoyed to see her. Pasha and Lalita, her second pare and mare, damn near smothered her, and then proceeded to prod at her stomach and comment about her lack of weight. It was a partial lie that Anisa was as skinny as they’d last seen them; she’d toned up for fourteen years and then packed a small amount of fat in the past couple. They worried over her limp, until Anisa assured her it was working properly and in its advanced healing stages, and fawned over her alhena. And, of course, welcomed her to their apartments to share in the spectacular adventure of the Junta.

It was about that time, though, that she’d received a message about her parents arrival. She told them she would be at the Junta this year. She bid her second family, though they’d sometimes felt like the first, farewell and began her trek across the station.

Anisa was a slew of red and yellow-gold accents. The tail of her maroon overcoat caught at the heel of her shoes, and her deep rose pants tugged at each other with each step. She tinkled very lightly, little charms on the side of her shoes and the ends of her large sleeves. Her sleeve got caught on the protruding corner of a stall, and Anisa pulled it free, turned, and bulldozed bodily into someone.

“Sento molt, amia!” Anisa steadied the small drunk miss. “Started the party early, did you?” Anisa grinned, and then realized the girl couldn’t see her smile. “Let me get your walking stick. You there, that belongs to her. Thank you. Very sorry again, amia. Sometimes I do not pay attention to where I am going. Enjoy the Junta!”

Mare and Pare had both grown gray hair, especially Pare, who was well into his sixties. Anisa was careful approaching her mother’s sour-face, which turned into closed lip smile. Pare, however, showed his teeth, and even Alejo joined in the group hug. The Inezes looked uncomfortable to on board the Junta Station, being a usually private group of people except for their odd Anisa.

“By Gol, look at your face!” Mare Adelina snatched her chin and twisted her face to the side. “These scars have damaged the beautiful rounds of your face and spoiled your petite nose!”

“I told you in my messages that I had dueled for five years, Mare.”

“So I remember now. I didn’t think it would take such a physical toll.”

“Something tells me I shouldn’t show you my stomach and back, then.”

“Of stomachs!” Mare prodded firmly at Anisa’s abdomen, forcing some breath from the woman. “Where are my grandchildren?”

“There are no grandchildren, Mare. I would like to speak to Pare for a moment, please.” Alejo rescued her, sliding an arm about their mother’s shoulders and guiding her away. Anisa turned to her father, then, a sadness in her eyes. “You warned me her memory was failing. How far back?”

“She still remembers how you were just before you left, and all the details of your life. She still remembers Lalo’s passing, and being there with you, and raising you, and sending you off and who with. She still recognized you, as you see. It just took her a moment.”

“Is she still crafting?”

“Most of the time… here and there… she gets easily distracted.” Fausto gave a weary sigh. “She randomly gets up at night, checks your old room, asks where you went. We had to move our guests out of that room because once she threw a fit about it being too soon to rent your room. She asked Alejo to make her a portrait, also, and has hung it in there. She grows more difficult… but I am with her. Fins que el motor s'apaga...pero, fins i tot despres.”

Anisa smiled wanly. “Come, Pare. Let me know when you’ve moved your things into the apartments. I have to go check in on my helpers at my stand. I will help you set up in a bit.”

“Bona, my daughter.” He moved a lock of hair behind her shoulder and she turned to go. “Wait.” She turned back. “That fill d’gossa owes me your new leg, because it pains me to see you limp like me.”

Anisa smiled again. “Bona sort, Pare.”

[Dutch]

"Vents recollir!"

Groaned the man as he stretched with cat like grace. The sleeves on his shirt rolled up as he stretched them upwards to reveal the drac d'espai that spiraled down his right arm, and a single name etched elegantly onto it. Anisa Inez Gaspar deVisio. With an excited bounce to his step Lalo Rios Acosta deVela walked away from his seat in the ship that had just arrived to the Junta. He clasped hands with and hugged his companions farewell. Lalo had traveled with the company for a few months now, but this particular day had been the only one he had thought on for all those nights spent in his cabin, staring at the ceiling as he hummed Anisa's song.

It was all the man could do not to sprint around in excitement as familiar sounds and smells began to fill his senses. A roguish smile graced his lips as he looked around at sites he had not seen in an age. The din of activity made his heart soar in excitement, and for the first ten minutes, just stood and looked around- expecting to see his Anisa at any second look up to see him and fling herself at him in jubilation. However, he did not see her. Nor would she recognize you, amio... He thought with a slight tug of a frown before he shook his head and looked around once more. After such a long trip, he needed a drink- badly.

With a bounce he strode to the closest place he saw- The Dragon's Slumber. Naturally he would choose any place that hinted at the drac d'espai, like most Humani. Luckily no one seemed to bother him, as he had chosen his outfit carefully for his first day at the Junta. One of his company he had been apart of was a tailor, and she had sewn the most opulent clothing for Lalo. Dark blue silk that hung loosely on his toned body, with long sleeves that were slightly rolled up above his wrists. The shirt was hooded and the man had it up to somewhat conceal both his hair and eyes- the two biggest changes to the man since the last time he was among his people. The front of the shirt was open, but held together loosely by silvery lacing, some of his abdomen tattoo and scars could be glimpsed if Lalo moved right. Patterned and accented in silvery thread, the shirt was tucked into black pants that hugged his hips and were held up by a rich brown leather belt, and boots to match. Ritmo and Alma, the twin shining blades, were both in scabbards slung across his back, as usual.

His boots clicked on the floor as he entered the Slumber, and looked around with a warm smile. Humani of all sorts chatted and drank and sang together, the warmth of community and family was heavy in the air. Oh how he had missed it, nowhere else in his travels had Lalo seen or felt the kind of camaraderie that enveloped the Humani culture. Never again did Lalo ever want to be away from it again.

"Another Iced Wine please, barkeep!"

Lalo blinked at the surprising well chosen order and turned his yellow gaze to a younger looking man with an amicable demeanor about him. He turned lightly on his feet and approached.

"Make that two!"

He shouted over the crowd with a wave at the tender before he moved to the seat across from the younger man. Lalo kept his hood up as he sat down, sure to adjust his posture so his weapons sat comfortably. His hand would reach forward to grab the other man's glass, the eyes of his Duinuogwuin would glare proudly as Lalo picked it up. He swirled the little bit at the bottom of the glass before speaking.

"Iced Wine, well chosen my friend. Corellia... Satos region... Swenti Vineyards. Do I approve of your choice in wine? Why yes, I do."

[Moonfire]

"Pare! Pare! Come quickly!" Called Lorelei from one of the many cooking stalls that had been brought out, into the corridor for the Junta.

The space station was filled the brim with people, their musical voices filled the young woman's ears with pleasure. It was lovely to be among family again, to feel her mother tongue in her soul and not struggle to find words and understanding, to find strange, alien faces jeering at her as the words tumbled clumsily from her mouth. But no, here Lorelei Kalvaari Montez Castillo deVela was perfectly understood, and even more... For the first time since she had been brought in by Emilio, a pink and blue child, she was accepted without question. At least by those who matter.

"What is it, Lorelei?" Emilio asked with a soft laugh at the girls excitement, little ones clutched in both hands. Her new brothers, born of her step-mare where just barely five, their first Junta laid out before them in all its festive wonder.

With a flourish Lorelei held out her latest culinary creation, a crispy, delicately flaky pastry filled with meat and soft herbed cheese she had brought back from Zeltros. It was he only thing of value she had found on the wretched planet, still remembering the dizzying confusion she felt at the hands of the vapid, flashy people there. But it was mala sort to dwell on such things, especially at Junta.

"A pastry I made, Cervantes said I might be able to sell them. I made these as samples." She smiled

Emilio took the flaky pocket in his olive colored hand and bit heartily into the warm gooey center. A moan of pleasure and mumbled words before passing what was left between the boys at his hip. Benvolio and Tybalt ate the food greedily, sucking the crispy buttered crumbs from their finger tips.

"Delightful my darling daughter. Go ahead and pass some out, your ermos and I will watch the cart." Emilio gave a wink before shooing her off away from the food cart Cervantes, the old ship cook had helped her establish.

Tray piled with pastries Lorelei walked, calling out to the people. Some recognized the half-breed from Junta past, or even from the Castillo ship itself, others were perplexed to see an estrani at their most important event, dressed in humani skirts and tokens. The pink skinned girl only beckoned people forth, wide smile across her face as she invited in her lilting voice to take a sample, to enjoy what she had crafted with her two hands.

A woman in red and gold finery captured Lorelei's attention, her face, scarred but beautiful not in spite of it, but almost added to it. This was someone who had seen adventure, who had done something worthwhile. Someone troubled the air around her sang and spoke to the younger woman, but relished in the strength beneath it.

Without worry, Lorelei approached her, tray of assorted filled pastries in hand and presented with an air of drama.

"Senyora, please honor me by trying a sample. Fine fillings made from fresh ingredients on Zeltros in my travels... prepared in the Humani way." She smiled, her head bowed down lightly in respect.

[Swamps]

"Make that two!"

Mercutio smiled as a warm shout rang throughout the bar, it seems that excitement had come to him. An imposing Humani that despite his physical size moved with a grace that he had last seen amongst those of the Black Danse troupe, a dancer he would wager. He was decked out in rich, regal blues and his shirt hung open, revealing a muscular chest and the faintest glimpses of several parallel scars. A man that reeked of adventure and intrigue, the shadows cast across his face by his hood only adding to this. The man approached him and took his glass with a reassuring smile before commenting on his choice of wine. And nailing down it's location...

Right down to the vineyard. Whoever this man was he was something quite special.

"I'm flattered and a mite impressed, I might say. Although I think you'll find that the Swenti Vineyards recently changed hands and is now the Manara Vineyards, I'll forgive you that tiny error though."

Mercutio uttered with a wry smile, the man seemed too good to be true. Almost like some reflected image of himself that had ventured far beyond the boundaries of it's mirror.

"After all, a man who can narrow a wine's scent down that far is not somebody to be trifled with."

The man shifted in his seat, the clink of metal tinkling amongst the crowd's chatter. Mercutio raised an eyebrow, swords? That would explain his footwork: a duellist and a dancer perhaps. Or one or the other.

"So, who do I have the pleasure of greeting?"

He asked, brushing down his jacket. His regular puzzle of a jacket had, for once, been discarded in favour of another. A longer black jacket which was dotted with several unique eyes, all sewn in a silver thread that glimmered in the light. It was something to mark the occasion, to mark Junta. After all this year's was to be of new beginnings: he had great hope in finding a new Humani crew to travel with, somewhere he belonged. And he would find it, tide willing of course.

[Meira]

What are you doing? How is this going to help you? You're sitting in some dank alley, moping about like a stupid little girl. You didn't think she'd live forever, did you? Idiota. Get up and go do something. You have legs, don't you?

Finally, Roma pushed herself back up off the ground. She moved back toward the sound of people. If for nothing else, she walked to shut herself up. She was right, of course. Sitting in some alley wouldn't find her a ship, nor would it bring Tanit back. Tanit was gone. She was alone. But so what? She might as well have been alone her whole life. Tanit never tried to make her feel better for her lot in life. What would that serve her. It would have been easy, but it would not have been true. If there was one thing that old bat ever did for Roma, it was that she showed her that the hard truth was better than a gentle lie.

Roma was barely back in the crowds and flow of people when she was struck by another hard truth. people didn't use their eyes, even when theirs worked. The collision almost sent Roma to the ground, but a pair of hands gripped her shoulders to prevent it. Her walking stick, however, could be heard clattering on the floor. Roma tried to turn to the sound, to seek it out. She was lost without the cane. But the hands held her fast.

“Sento molt, amia! Started the party early, did you?” Roma shrugged he hands off of her, but without the walking stick, she felt off balance. The voice that had come with the hands spoke of retrieving it, and soon the cane was back in Roma's hands, earning the voice a "Gracies" before the woman was gone, disappeared into the white noise.

With a sigh, Roma took to walking again, only to be stopped once more. The aroma of cheese and herbs and bread assaulted the young woman, causing her to stop for fear she'd run into a merchant's stall. Then there was another voice, close enough to be distinct from the noise around her, offering a sample. Roma had stepped back at the sudden arrival, ready to sling a curse at whoever else had been stupid enough to walk into a blind girl. But no collision came, and that smell was making her mouth water.

Rather than grope aimlessly at the air in front of her, or worse... knock the food from the woman's hands, Roma held her hand out. "It does smell good." she mumbled, her stomach growling at the chance to eat. Her palm was soon filled by the offered treat and Roma repositioned her fingers to hold it so as not to be burned. She brought it close to her face and sniffed. It certainly did smell good enough. Slowly, she took a bite, but had to hold it in her teeth, breathing out to cool it before chewing.

Roma's eyes rolled back, a now useless habit from a time when she could see, at the taste. It was simply delicious. She and Tanit never had the coin to eat well. They'd spent years living off soup and hard bread; the occasional bit of tough meat. Roma took another bite, and then devoured what remained.

"Molt bo." she said, a smile even managing to emerge. "What do you call it?"

[Squee]

Let’s see… A left at the restaurant with the Gol cuisine. Left again after Mistress Atheine’s Talisman’s and next a right at the Dragon’s Slumber … This is all assuming I get through this bazaar. It would seem to be an hour to feast; there were lines forming at the food stands. Trays of succulent food wafting curls of steam were being exchanged for a few credits.

"Senyora…” Anisa lifted a hand at first, ready to gently wave off the bright, red-skinned girl. But the scent invited its way into Anisa’s senses, triggering her mouth to water. The hand paused, and so did Anisa’s words. “…Please honor me by trying a sample.”

“How can I refuse?” Anisa’s hand contorted to pluck up one of the deliciously appealing pastries. She hadn’t been hungry before, but somehow this young woman had managed to make her stomach rumble. Waving the pastry back and forth beneath her nose a couple of times, Anisa breathed in deeply, allowing the wonderful smell to settle into her lungs.

The bread of the pastry seemed to crumble and melt on her tongue. The flavorful spices of the meat were positively, perfectly superb. Anisa found herself swallowing the bite much too soon, only to revive her taste buds again with a fresh bite.

“Molt bo,” the other woman was saying, who’d been there before Anisa. Still savoring her pastry, Anisa nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ve spent a great deal of time on Zeltros.” Anisa licked each of her fingertips. No last piece of flaky crust or final, buttery tastes were going to be lost. “Years, even.” Her unoccupied left hand rested on the ornate pommel of her sword, more out of habit due to memories than anything else. “I’ve had my food prepared by marvelous chefs of all species and culture. Yet, my dear, in one pastry, all competition has been felled. Just a touch of the Humani hand perfects a creation. You made these? Are you from Zeltros yourself?”

And then that’s the young lady I ran into earlier. Same walking stick, same swath of clothing…

[Dutch]

Lalo returned the young man's smile, if there was one thing that was true in the galaxy, it was that Humani were among the most amicable folk to be found. He shifted in his seat and laughed softly at the man's words. Yellow eyes, still hidden by the hood, would scan the younger man. His coat obviously something special for the occasion, though his garb narrowed his tastes down. It was almost like looking at a younger version of himself there, had he not ventured out into the wide galactic sea. The timbre of the other's voice marked him as vocally trained, Lalo's own bardic trade easily picking up on a fellow appreciator of the arts. He clicked his tongue and tilted his head slightly. A lock of white hair would fall in front of his face, and with a smooth, practiced motion Lalo brought his right hand up to brush it back behind his ear before he spoke.

"You're generosity knows no bounds, amio. I must admit, I have been among the sea of stars for a spell... By the smell, it seems this Manara Vineyards still uses dark-wood casks for storage...

He started as Lalo noticed the young man's eyes go to the scars on the part of his chest that was visible. The man chuckled softly and with his left hand, pulled the shirt aside to reveal his pectoral, and all nineteen lines that ran across and down it in order. The tender came around with two glasses of plum colored wine, and Lalo slipped credits to him with a smile and a word of thanks. Lalo turned back to the young man and continued.

... The work of el dimoni, I'm afraid. Worry not, es seu sang after all, no?"

Lalo laughed and took a deep drink of the wine. Flavors of spice and mulled alcohol rolled smoothly over his tongue, and he rolled it down his gullet with a contented sigh of appreciation. After a long flight, he was grateful for the warmth that spread from his core into his limbs, the wine instantly relaxing him more. The younger man queried who he was, and Lalo leaned forward to warmly grasp his hand in a brotherly grasp, his grip strong and his hand calloused.

"You have the pleasure of meeting Lalo Rios Acosta deVela, amio. And you, my dashing young lad? What is the name of the charming young fill d'Humani before me?"

[Swamps]

"You're generosity knows no bounds, amio. I must admit, I have been among the sea of stars for a spell... By the smell, it seems this Manara Vineyards still uses dark-wood casks for storage..."

A wry smile crept across Mercutio's lips, it was refreshing to find somebody so friendly and knowledgeable and... Like him? He chuckled softly at his own thoughts and the flash of arrogance that had shown through. The enigmatic man pulled his shirt away to reveal many aged scars, dark and disturbingly numerous.

"...The work of el dimoni, I'm afraid. Worry not, es seu sang after all, no?

"Nature aside, it seems that the dimoni that floated your way was a little fiercer than most. It certainly seems he left his mark, as he does for all."

Clearly he was an adventurer of some sort, Mercutio would have guessed at various mercenary-like professions but his demeanor and artistic wit seemed to suggest something a little more... Cultured. An explorer or writer perhaps.

Whatever his profession, clearly the man was a treasure trove of tales, somebody who had experienced the universe. The bartender broke through his unheard musings, two enticing glasses in his hands. A few credits later and one of them sat in his hand, it's deep red contents swishing about as he toyed with it. He tipped the glass back and let the crimson fluid splash over his tongue, the cool of the drink battling with it's warming fruits. Such a delightful contrast.

The man introduced himself as Lalo Rios Acosta deVala, the name slipping from his tongue in a practiced melody. Mercutio reached out to shake his hand and was met by a firm and calloused opposite, obviously not one to be left idle. He considered his own, apart from toting drinks, books, pens and the controls of starships they rarely saw use. He imagined Lalo as a rugged individual, one who although possessing an unassailable class was not afraid to get his hands dirty.

"The name's Mercutio, Mercutio Samirello Bolivano deFe. Poet, starpilot and general purveyor of entertainment. Pleased to meet such a cultured individual."

His hand released, Mercutio leant back into his chair and took another drink.

"You strike me as the sort of man that would have many a tale to tell, if I'm not to bold. And I don't think I've seen you in the Slumber before, so I must ask. What's the occasion?"

He questioned, his glass waving with his words.

"And don't say La Junta."

He teased with a smile.

[Squee]

((Sorry Mooney. I loves you dearly, but I want my Junta. Soooooooooo much Lalisa rides on it.))

Though the little Zeltros girl had been delightfully young and beautiful, bubbly, and pleasant to talk to, a need to return to her alhena stand nagged the back of Anisa’s mind. To thank the girl for her delectable pastry, Anisa extended an offer to alhena her arm. The woman’s hands were bare, but she lifted them and pushed back her red sleeve to show the Zeltros girl the intricate stains crawling up her own arm.

Becoming aware of the blind girl’s presence once again, Anisa’s dark eyes rounded on her. She had left the girl so quickly after nearly bulldozing her over. Though she had righted the girl and retrieved her walking cane, Anisa felt a touch of guilt for not paying better attention in the first place. The pastry had brightened the blind girl’s face, but before… no one should have to look that miserable at the Junta. Especially not one so young, and should be giggling with girlfriends and dancing to music.

So Anisa touched the girl’s shoulder gently. “Amia. I’ll alhena your hand and arm too, if you’d like.”

In a tone faint of heart, the girl responded with dismissal, stating she could not see it.

“Perhaps not literally, no,” Anisa replied. “However, alhena is best kept when chilled. I’ll find my coldest alhena to apply to your skin. You’ll be able to feel the design cool on your skin and tell me when enough is enough. And after it dries you can touch it lightly until it flakes off. You can’t see my arms, but I’ve done this for nearly a decade and I promise you I’ll make it pretty. Yes?”

After a moment more coaxing the girl, she finally caved to the offer. With a smile, Anisa lifted the girl’s free hand and pulled it through her own arm. “Hold there, amia. I’ll take us to our stand. What is your name?”

Anisa chatted lightly as she walked them through the bazaar. Pulling free from the feasting crowds, she took that left after Mistress Atheine’s Talismans. Although she couldn’t see, Anisa pointed out the Dragon’s Slumber to her companion, boasting about the wine as she turned them right. As they neared the section with her stand, she began to ask her companion if she liked flowers, drac d’espai, suns, swirls, and the like.

They would hear the music first, strings and woodwinds meshing together into alluring tunes begging to be danced to. Anisa allowed her gaze to wander over where there was a space cleared for dancers. Some of them were just goofing around, but a pair here and there used knew what they were doing. A bittersweet smile overtook her as she watched a particularly young couple swirl around each other, unadulterated happiness creasing their faces.

Fifteen years…

Even observing for a few moments brought that special ache back, the one Anisa always reserved for Lalo. She’d most definitely danced in these past fifteen years, but she hadn’t with another Humani. And not one of her dance partners could match her Lalo’s skill. This Junta, the first since his disappearance, was difficult to experience in its soft, painful way. But Anisa had wanted to hear the music, and be able to look up and watch the people dance from her seat.

“Here, amia,” she said as she placed the girl’s hand on her table. Anisa turned to her stall keeper, the daughter of the family who had been kind enough to let Anisa rent a space on their ship. “Gracies, Abby. You going to join your cousins now? Good. Here, buy something nice with this. Now, amia…”

Anisa picked up two plush cushions and arranged them on the floor in beside the stall. She then instructed and guided the girl to sitting down on one of them before fetching her alhena. Sitting across from her guest, Anisa pinned up her sleeves while asking, “Have you decided? Flowers? I can make them with tips or make the petals soft? Or do you want to be bold and have a dragon snaking about your arm?”

[Meira]

Another voice nearby broke through the joy of the pastry. It took a moment, but Roma finally recognized it as the woman who'd run into her just a few moments ago. She managed not to grumble, but Roma still took a small step away from the sound of the woman... just in case. But her attempt at creating a safe distance was for naught. After offering alhena to the woman who cooked so well, the clumsy one offered to Roma as well. The girl snorted.

"Why? I can't see it." Roma said.

The question did not deter the woman. The matter was pressed and pressed until finally Roma agreed. She told herself it was just to shut the woman up, but there was a part of her that smiled at the offer. It had been so long since Roma remembered being treated like just another person. So much in her life had pushed her to the side, she forgot what it was like to be accepted. There had been moments, flashes of carefree anonymity. But they were brief. And he had ruined them all.

But this woman was different. This woman didn't know her as the Ispi girl, nor did she seem to care about her blindness. She was genuinely kind, as far as the tones of her voice showed. If she had a hidden motive, she hid it well. But what agenda could this woman possibly be hiding? Roma had nothing.

The woman took her arm. Roma couldn't help but flinch. Tanit had never guided Roma by the arm. She'd taught Roma to follow just fine by the sounds people made. It was difficult in crowded places though, and this woman was not Tanit. So Roma allowed herself to be pulled gently through the crowd, holding her walking stick close to her body.

"Roma." she replied as her name was asked. She left it at that. No reason to divulge her inconvenient full name.

Soon, they'd arrived and Roma was being pulled down to sit. She settled on the cushion as the woman rolled up her sleeve. Roma felt oddly nervous. All this touching was a bit overwhelming. The woman was asking about designs and mentioned dragons, a common theme in Humani artwork.

"No." she said quickly. "No dragons." He had a dragon tattoo. Of course, she'd never seen it, but in the brief time Roma and Pau had been reunited, he'd told her about it. She should have never gone with him that day they'd run into each other. She should have known he'd leave her, just like he'd done when they were little. He was a coward and she wanted nothing that might even slightly tie her to him again.

"I like spirals," she finally offered, "and flowers, I guess."

[Dutch]

Lalo leaned forward to clasp Mercutio's hand in his. He gripped firmly and smiled widely. Like all Humani, the long, elegant name flowed from the younger man's lips.

"The name's Mercutio, Mercutio Samirello Bolivano deFe. Poet, starpilot and general purveyor of entertainment. Pleased to meet such a cultured individual."

"I am pleased to call you kin then, Mercie. My mare is deFe, and I spent many years among them in my youth." He raised his glass to Mercutio in a salute before taking a drink himself.

"You strike me as the sort of man that would have many a tale to tell, if I'm not to bold. And I don't think I've seen you in the Slumber before, so I must ask. What's the occasion? And don't say La Junta."

For a moment Lalo merely smiled. He had literally just about said 'la Junta' before Mercie cut in. Lalo thought for a moment, and decided that the young man had already earned a bit of respect from him. His hands moved up towards his hood, hesitant at first before he drew it back to rest on his broad shoulders. The visage that now peered at Mercutio would probably frighten the boy at first, as it did for most. Pure white hair tied back into a loose ponytail, and eyes a sinister yellow in color. The slit pupils dilated slightly to adjust to the lighting with the hood removed, but still Lalo smiled.

Lalo took another drink. "Many, many tales amio. Most unpleasant... but all for a good reason. You are correct in saying that you have not seen me here, I've only arrived today, and not been among our people for many, many years." He leaned forward to set the wineglass down and wove his fingers together.

"The occasion is one I have spent the last fifteen years pursuing. The highest of all pursuits, the entire reason for my existence..." Lalo let a dramatic pause take place before he grinned roguishly at Mercutio. "... and that reason, is love."

Again the wineglass was taken to hand and Lalo swirled the fluid within it. "There is an entire bottle of this wine in it for you, if you can tell me if you've heard the name Anisa Inez Gaspar deVisio... and even more if you know where I can find her..."

[Swamps]

Mercutio raised an eyebrow as Lalo's hood fell to pool around his shoulders. It was plain why the man had chosen to mask himself, the strangeness of his features almost disturbing. Harsh yellow eyes shone at the centre of his face; mangled pupils and an unfaltering gaze giving sinister impressions that contrasted sharply with the charm and friendliness of the man before him. Crowning those bale suns was a head of the whitest hair Mercutio had ever laid eyes on, arcing backwards and out of sight in a relaxed pony tail. In the misty light of the Slumber it shimmered and completed Lalo's veritably ethereal look.

A queer humming noise escaped Mercutio's lips as his interest peaked and his gaze deepened. Those eyes reminded him of many dark tales and myths, talk of gaunt and strange individuals that could impress their wills upon the world with their minds alone. He knew of the Jedi but to his knowledge they were mostly benign, the peacemakers and diplomats of the galaxy. And even when they did take up arms they did so with moral rigidity and a righteous calm, aspects always absent from the dark figures of lore. They were impulsive and predatory, primal in their desires and blunt in their pursuit of them. A chill came over him, his own hazel eyes falling away from Lalo's gaze and into his drink. A swig of the carmine ambrosia numbed the chill considerably and assisted him in mustering himself again, his longish hair bouncing slightly as he brought his head up to face his new friend.

He wished to quip or comment on the odd visage before him but before he could his opposite was answering his previous question. He spoke of the unpleasantness of his journeys, and their necessity. Mercutio saw the man's face shift as he spoke and imagined the memories swirling inside that head of his, memories that he guessed were far more than unpleasant. He leant forwards and without realising Mercutio did the same, more words spilling from his mouth.

"The occasion is one I have spent the last fifteen years pursuing. The highest of all pursuits, the entire reason for my existence..."

He paused and in that moment Mercutio hated him, a roguish smile showing that he knew full well what he was doing.

"...and that reason, is love."

A smile crept across Mercutio's face at the speed of a skulking vornskr as he brought his drink back up to his mouth.

"Of course, what else?"

Wine followed his words and, as he discarded his now empty glass, he relaxed into his chair.

"There is an entire bottle of this wine in it for you, if you can tell me if you've heard the name Anisa Inez Gaspar deVisio... and even more if you know where I can find her."

"An entire bottle, eh? Hmm..."

Mercutio thought, an idle hand coming to rest on his temple. He knew the name Inez well enough, they were craftsman. Very talented people, the lot of them. But he did not recall an Anisa, in fact he did not recall a woman. There was Fausto and of course his wife and their painter-son but no Anisa.

"Well, I can't say I've heard of an Anisa Inez but I know the family well, very talented craftsman. My sister brought some of their precious jewellery some time ago."

He stopped to think again, his body resting motionless for a second before whirring into action. Jumping to his feet, he threw a handful credits the way of the bartender who caught them, and thanked him for the wine before turning back to Lalo.

"You haven't partaken in La Junta for some time, you say? Perhaps it's best I accompany you then, it would certainly make finding your way easier. And if the Inez are plying their trade this year I see no reason for them to have moved their selling point."

He started towards the door of the Slumber, hands wafting through the edges of the bar's wispy curtains as he negotiated them. As he began his exit the dart board caught his eye and a tinge of sadness could be felt - his family were late as usual. He would be back in time for darts, he decided. Even then he would probably arrive before them, and if he didn't the bartender would tell them where he had ambled off to.

"Come on, Lalo. Love waits for no man!"

Mercutio explained as he whirled out of the pub, his gaze catching Lalo's bemused expression as he did. Obviously he had not expected his day to progress in this manner. But then again neither had Mercutio...